Bring Me Back From the Edge
by Klaxon
Summary: Haven is a totalitarian police state, the LEP the force keeping the dictator's regime in place. Uncooperative Holly has been thrown in prison, and Artemis has been the test recipient of the new, permanent mindwipe, which has left him suicidal.
1. What Ever Happened to Artemis Fowl?

Chapter One

**What Ever Happened to Artemis Fowl?**

* * *

The one thing they never anticipated would come out of this final mindwipe was the one thing that did. For the last four years, Artemis had lived and breathed the fairy world – everything else was simply mundane necessity. Presenting an oral report in biology class, his mind would be working out the kinks in his latest plan to help Holly with some underworld problem. Having dinner with his parents and their guests, he'd stare into the candle flames while excited, champagne-fueled chatter bounced around him, and perusing the fairy law books stored in his memory, hoping to determine whether, with his new-found magic, he could still be legally termed only a "mudman." Once in a while, and never often enough for Artemis' liking, Holly would visit late at night, and they'd walk deep in his family's gardens, while she told him about all the latest happenings in Haven – even the confidential things she wasn't supposed to share with anyone, and _especially_ not with Artemis, of all people. Lying in bed, his long, black lashes would finally close in sleep, and he'd dream dreams like Waterhouse paintings, and redheaded Holly would feature in every one of them.

For four years, he'd_had_ no life outside of the fairy world – take that away, and he was like a 12-year-old boy again, but with such a voracious sense of loneliness and loss that it hurt to live. Which was why he'd tried very hard not to. And that was why he'd ended up in a mental hospital – his parents just couldn't deal with the pain of watching him die before their eyes, and they couldn't deal with the mess when he tried to speed the process along. And worst of all, they couldn't understand what had happened to him. They asked him, but if he spoke at all, he'd tell them that nothing had.

* * *

Butler stood outside Artemis' room, looking in through the double-paned glass panel on the door, and felt a pain stab through his chest. His breath stopped in his throat.

"Is it _really_ necessary to restrain him like that?" he choked out, every muscle yearning to knock this stupid doctor out, rush in there, and free his best and most faithful friend.

"I'm afraid so," said the doctor, uncomfortably. "We tried simply sedating him heavily, but he managed to swap the dose with bleach somehow – we're still not sure how he managed it – but the night nurse found him white as a sheet not half-an-hour later" – here Butler winced – "so we can't take the risk of leaving him unrestrained anymore."

Butler was somehow red and white all at once – red with rage, white with shock. "How did he get his hands on bleach?" he glowered. He was easily a foot taller than the doctor, and three times his breadth. The doctor took an involuntary step backwards.

"Ah – we're terribly sorry about that, sir," stuttered the doctor, "but we have no idea where he got it from. We've interrogated most of the staff, but they're all as baffled as I am. You know how smart he is – he'd have managed to kill himself long ago if he wasn't so constantly lethargic and unmotivated. And if we don't take precautions, he'll manage it eventually. I've got to tell you, I've never encountered a case quite like this Fowl boy's. From all the accounts of his parents, teachers, and classmates, he'd been completely happy, by all appearances, until the morning of April 11th. _Something_ must have happened that night, because I've never seen anyone experience such a sudden transition. Frankly – and I've seen a _lot_ of really terrible cases, let me tell you – I've never seen anyone so utterly miserable. It's like he has only one thought in his head – to stop living."

The doctor glanced back through the glass of the door, to where Artemis was lying in exactly the same position as before, thick straps pinning down his wrists and ankles, his empty gaze fixed permanently on the ceiling. "I've seen his files," said the doctor, almost in a whisper. "It's such a tragic waste – he would have done amazing things, you can be sure of that. For some reason, it always seems to strike the brilliant ones the worst."

Butler was staring at Artemis, tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. "Can I see him?" he rasped.

"I suppose so, but I doubt he'll even notice you're there," answered the doctor. "At least, he won't show it."

Butler nodded. The doctor tapped a code into the panel, and the door clicked open softly. He held the it open for Butler. "Knock when you want out."

Butler advanced almost reluctantly into the room. He barely noticed the door closing behind him. Every nerve in his body was on full alert, and he felt desperate to be away from here – he couldn't stand to see Artemis so changed. The doctor must be right – something _had_ to have happened to bring about such a stark alteration, but if Artemis knew what it was, he wouldn't, or couldn't, say.

He was beside Artemis's bed now, taking in the tautness of the restraints, the bones which protruded through the blankets, the chalky whiteness of his skin – paler than he'd ever been before, and a paleness of a different sort. He still hadn't looked at Artemis's face yet. He was working himself up to it. Butler was aware that it was going to be a much more acute pain than he'd ever felt – worse even than when he'd took that bullet for Artemis so long ago now. Gradually, purposefully, teeth clenched, he forced his gaze to travel up to Artemis's face – and instantly the tears began to course down Butler's face. He sunk down onto the hard, one-piece plastic chair beside the bed, his massive frame shaking with sobs. He gripped Artemis arm, but would not look into his eyes again. Still, he couldn't get them out of his mind – such emptiness he'd never seen before, not even in the dead bodies of conquered opponents.

"Oh, Artemis," he wept into the tight, stark white sheet covering the boy. "What_happened _to you Artemis? Why can't you tell me?"

He hadn't for an instant believed Artemis was conscious of his presence, but at that moment, Artemis blinked and turned his vacant blue gaze on Butler. "They don't have a right, Butler," he said hoarsely.

Butler's head snapped up in shock. "Artemis?" he gasped. "What…"

"They don't have a right," Artemis repeated, face expressionless.

"Don't have a right to do what?" stammered Butler, hoping to keep him talking.

"To keep me alive when I want to die. They don't have a right. Help me die, Butler?"

Butler gaped at him, horrified. Artemis eyes were boring into his, but there was still no emotion to be found in them. "Artemis…why do you want to die? If you told me, I might be able to help you."

"You'd help me kill myself?" Artemis's gaze was becoming intent, and Butler was becoming alarmed. He had the sudden, chilling feeling that this boy lying before him, speaking calmly of suicide, was not Artemis at all.

"Artemis, I can't…" Butler trailed off, helplessly.

Artemis' expression slowly morphed into one of rage. His eyes blazed and his chest heaved against the restraint. "HELP ME!!!!" he shrieked, madly.

Butler got up from his chair unsteadily. "No, Artemis, I don't –"

"GET OUT!" screamed Artemis, straining against his restraints, screeching wildly at that top of his lungs. "YOU BASTARD! I HATE YOU!! YOU WERE NEVER MY FRIEND! I _HATE _YOU!!"

Butler stumbled backwards, watching in horror as Artemis managed to extricate one arm from its restraint and used it tear out clumps of his hair and drag his nails down his face, leaving cuts that instantly began to bleed, all the while shrieking madly. Butler watched in a daze as a team of doctors and nurses came rushing past him into the room, and he backed out the door as quickly as his shaking legs would carry him.

In the hall, he brushed past another doctor who was racing to Artemis' room, syringe case in hand.

Butler leant against the wall. He wept bitterly for some time.


	2. Ministry of Life

A/N: The third and fourth chapters are already written, but I haven't had time to proofread them yet, so they'll be up...sometime. This story is inspired by 1984, and real-life accounts of torture under Stalin's regime. Fanfic's editing function is Pure Evil. Seriously. It needs work. Changes successfully saved, my butt.

* * *

Chapter Two

The Ministry of Life

* * *

"What's the latest on inmate 0590?" asked the short, mustached elf. He was a very unremarkable-looking fairy, except for his eyes. There was something about his eyes that made you realize he wasn't someone you wanted to cross. The pixie walking on the elf's left was puffing with the effort of trying to keep up with his quick stride. The long corridor was a claustrophobic metal tube, lit with painfully bright lights that seemed to stretch on for miles in a straight line. There wasn't a single intersecting corridor or doorway anywhere along the tunnel. 

"0590?" squeaked the pixie. "Same as ever, Comrade Stayl. "Still refuses to speak."

Comrade Stayl halted for a moment. "No change whatsoever?" His voice was calm and even, but his eyes were keen and fierce. Stayl could be the most ingratiating, charming individual when he chose to be, but the pixie knew him well enough to realize that such instances weren't evidence of an underlying good nature.

"No, sir," muttered the pixie. Stayl's eyes narrowed. "Comrade! Sorry, sir,_ comrade_ Stayl," the pixie corrected himself.

Stayl grunted in contempt and continued his breakneck pace down the hall. "Is that her file you've got there?"

"Yes, comrade," replied the pixie, whose name was Jules.

"Well, fork it over!"

Jules forked.

Stayl flipped through the file as he walked, his frown gradually deepening. Jules didn't dare make a comment. He walked as lightly as possible, hoping Stayl would forget his presence. He wasn't anticipating the scene that would undoubtedly follow when he and Stayl reached the end of the bloody long corridor.

Five minutes later, Stayl drew up sharply, flinging the file back at Jules. Jules caught it, but just barely. He tucked the loose papers back in the folder and stayed out of arm's reach of Stayl. They'd reached the end of the corridor – inmate 0590's cell. "Isolation" took on a whole new meaning for this particular prisoner.

Stayl tapped his foot impatiently. "Open it, Jules!" he spat.

Jules jumped to attention, fumbling wildly through his pockets for the keys. Luckily, he wouldn't be likely to choose the wrong one – his key ring held only one bright gold, beautiful, and intricately designed key. He inserted it into the lock and twisted it sharply. A loud_clack_ sounded out, echoing in rivulets down the corridor. The cell door swung open.

At first glance, the cell appeared empty – except for a bucket, a tray, and an unidentifiable lump on the floor in the back corner.

"On!" Stayl barked the command, and the same harsh lighting from the hallway bled into the cell, revealing every speck of dust, every miniscule pock in the cement floor, painted white. The unidentifiable lump seemed to flinch slightly, and then all was still once more.

Stayl strode with unnerving calmness toward the lump, which, on closer inspection, appeared to be a pile of dirty laundry. A crooked grin filled Stayl's face, his terrible eyes fixed on the lump. He stopped in front of it, hands clasped politely behind his back.

"Jules?" he prompted expectantly, still smiling.

Jules stepped forward cautiously.

"A tad quicker, I should think, Jules," said Stayl, his voice hardening almost imperceptibly.

Jules appeared reluctant. "It's just that, she's been known to bite, you know."

Stayl turned his head toward the pixie, ever so slowly, pinning him down with his stare. "_I've_ been known to do much worse, Jules."

"Right!" gasped Jules, darting forward. "Of course you have." He bit his lip and made a grab for the thin, scratchy blanket. He threw it back to reveal – what? It must at one time have been an elf, but it looked like nothing more than a marionette, dropped in a pile on the floor. It appeared to be female. Her face was buried in the crook of her arm, shielding her eyes from the severe light. Her hair was the only spot of colour in the room, but it was a tangled, grimy mess. As the two comrades watched, she drew her knees up to her chest, assuming a fetal position.

Jules shook her shoulder vehemently, but she didn't respond at all. Out of the corner of his eye, Jules saw Stayl's foot tapping again. He swallowed, the perspiration beginning to break out on his forehead – he was caught between two very unpleasant scenarios, but one was definitely the lesser evil of the two. He yanked the redhead up by her hair. There was a muffled gasp as the light forced its way through the elf's eyelids. She tentatively cracked open one eye a slit. There was a very fierce pair of eyes looking back at her.

"Hello, there,_ Captain_," grinned Jules, wolfishly. He had crouched in front of her, and reaching out, he stroked a strand of tattered hair off her face with a finger. Holly jerked back so suddenly that Jules uttered a muffled shriek and leapt backward. She forced open her other eye – and instantly snapped both lids shut and covered them with her palms. But she tried again, and this time she was able to withstand the light better, well enough to manage a weak glare of noncompliance.

Stayl's jaw tightened in anger and hatred as he regarded her for a while in silence. "I don't like this," he said to Jules, pointing at her right eye. It was a brilliant and extremely unusual blue, simultaneously dark and bright, and it was a colour that shouldn't have been found in the eyes of any creature underground. "Why hasn't it been removed yet?" Stayl snapped.

"Oh!" The pixie looked startled. "Oh – well, Comrade Stayl, you said if it was kept in it would remind the KJV of her treachery, in case they started having a change of heart –"

"Yes, yes," said Stayl, dismissively. "Well, she won't be opening either of them for much longer, will she, Jules?"

Jules started. "What? But she's…" He trailed off, looking stunned.

"She's the ultimate traitor to the People, Jules," he drawled, as if daring the pixie to contradict him. "We've given her more than enough opportunity to join us, and she's proven to be ungrateful and hostile in return. If she is against neo-Frondism, she's against the People, and if she's against the People, she's _for_ the mudmen. That's more than enough justification for the Council to approve her termination."

"Yes, sir," croaked Jules. He was perfectly aware that no Council's approval would be requested – or required. He felt a potentially traitorous thought appear unbidden in his head, and quickly quashed it, glancing fearfully at Stayl. Jules half expected that Stayl would be aware of the thought and would order his own termination, as well.

Stayl left not long after, having delivered his message to ex-Captain Short. Jules locked the door to Holly's cell with the gold key, the unwelcome thought popping into his mind once again, as he regarded her. He was aware that if he voiced the thought, he'd be joining Short in the Ministry of Life. Still, he couldn't help thinking: was torturing this girl really giving her a fair chance to come round to the neo-Frondian way of thinking?

Jules shook himself, shivering at the counter-revolutionary thought that never should have crossed his mind. He'd have to be extra cautious in future not to let his distaste for torture affect his judgment. "Off!" he shouted, and the light in Holly's cell died away.


	3. Live to Prove Death

**A/N: **This chapter refers to torture methods that have been used innumerable times in many areas of the world. I've left out mentioning certain other types of torture that would almost surely have taken place, especially in the case of a female victim, because that's just too disturbing. Writing this chapter has only increased my conviction that all people are capable of unspeakable acts of evil.

* * *

**Chapter 3: **

**Live to Prove Death  
**

_No one can be trusted over the age of 14._

-Bloc Party

**  
**

So they were going to kill her. Holly wasn't sure how she felt about that. She knew she ought to feel _something_ – fear, sadness, terror – even concern would do, but there was nothing. She was entirely numb. No matter how much she tried to focus on the potentially fatal fact that her execution was scheduled for 10:00 the next morning, she simply couldn't seem to make herself afraid. For some reason, her mind kept focusing on trivial little things. She would hear a strange sound, somewhere far off, that she couldn't quite place, and later she'd realize with a start that she been listening idly to this sound for some time, without having given a thought to her impending death. She knew that the old Holly would have been frantically considering her options, formulating a plan and several back-up plans, preparing herself mentally for battle, and so on. But this Holly just lay there on the cement floor, unconcerned and unmotivated. Why was that? No doubt Artemis would have had some psychological explanation…

Holly pressed her knuckles to her eyes, clamping them tightly shut. She'd managed not to think of Artemis for ages now – how long exactly, she couldn't be sure, as she'd long since lost any sense of time in this dark hole – but she'd repressed all memory of him for a long while, and she certainly wasn't going to let herself think of him now. That was what she told herself, anyway, but her mind had plans of its own. So instead of concentrating on her upcoming execution, she latched once more onto morbid thoughts of her best friend. Flashes of memory illuminated the cell with scene after painful scene. On some level, she was aware that she was hallucinating, but that didn't make the pictures any less agonizing.

* * *

A moonless night: the KVJ, wearing green and grey combat gear, jumping him in his gardens at Fowl Manor. His eyes fixed on her briefly in shock and disbelief – and something else she couldn't quite place – before he was shot down. Holly herself, pale-faced in her own combat gear, left her gun pointed at the ground where he'd fell. 

A metallic prison cell, ringing with Artemis's screams as he was "interrogated" for days on end.

Artemis being marched past the formation of KVJ officers, their weapons at the ready. He did not look up, his gaze remaining firmly fixed on the floor. It was the first time she'd seem him since the incident in Fowl Gardens, and Holly was amazing to see how much he'd changed in just two short weeks. His cheeks had become almost sunken and he was thinner and paler than ever, but what really stopped her breath in her throat were his eyes. They were downcast, but they looked much bigger and rounder than before, even protruding strangely, which Holly attributed to his thinness and to the dark rings under his eyes. Worse than that, they betrayed his mind, showing that he'd been broken. She wanted him to look up, while being simultaneously terrified that he might, but he seemed to be allowing himself to be prodded and led blindly down the room, as if unaware that there was anyone watching him. But Holly knew he was aware that she was in the room. He knew, and she knew, that after the procedure was over, he would probably be dead within days, and if he wasn't – well, they'd get rid of him eventually, even if the mind wipe had been a total success. That is, if he didn't get rid of himself. Holly's heart began beating much too heavily and sharply, and she felt cold sweat on the back of her neck. She felt like shrieking in helplessness and horror at what she had done. For a moment she thought the lights must have dimmed, but then she realized it was only her, that she was blacking out. She felt panicky – what if she passed out and wasn't there to witness it? Then the light began to seep back into the room, and her vision returned to her just before they strapped him down, when he slowly raised his eyes and looked directly at her…

* * *

Holly lay on the floor of her dark cell, wondering why she couldn't cry. If she'd had the energy to be surprised at her apparent indifference, she would be. For some reason, she felt that it supported her point. 

But she also realized, then, why she wasn't trying to escape her own execution – because it would prove her point with utter certainty. If only she could understand what that point was.

Holly had been in that cell for about a month and a half, after enduring two weeks of KVJ "persuasion," which went something like this:

No food, barely any water. Enter Stayl and two former LEP operatives.

"Ah, Captain," drawled Stayl, coming to a halt in front of where she stood, slumped against the wall. "You're awake."

That was meant to be a joke, and the ex-LEPs laughed appreciatively, knowing that she'd been forced to stay awake for over twelve days and nights by that time. Hulking male fairies took it in shifts to ensure she got no sleep at all. Her magic, of course, had been bled out of her a long time before. They'd slap her face brutally if her eyes started to close, yank her to her feet when her knees gave out. If she fell unconscious, they'd first drench her in ice water, and then kick and punch her until she was forced, reluctantly, into consciousness. In all, she'd undergone this routine for about fourteen days straight, and by that point, it was as if this time in the interrogation cell was the only life she'd ever known. They'd reduced her to something pathetic – whatever it was, it certainly wasn't Holly anymore.

It was sick. It was so disgusting, so inhumane, that at first she couldn't believe they would actually do this to her. After a few days of such treatment, however, she wasn't thinking at all, except about how much she needed to sleep. Everything else – gnawing hunger, desperate thirst, unbearable pain – all took second place to the absolute necessity of sleep. Once in a while, she become vaguely aware that the hysterical screaming that had been assaulting her ears for so long was her own, but she had no power to stop it, and she'd continue shrieking until her voice went hoarse. There'd be crying fits as well, but she mostly wasn't conscious of those. She'd hallucinate often, and sometimes she'd fall to the ground and start retching for no particular reason, but nothing would come up, and she had to stop when they kicked her in the stomach. Finally, she was too far gone to even respond to their shouted questions, and Stayl finally ordered the KJV to put her in an isolation cell.

Stayl hadn't got everything out of Holly's torture session that he'd hoped he would, but he had to admit it hadn't been a total loss. He'd had three main reasons for doing it, and two of them had been a spectacular success – he'd been able to feel the pure joy of watching an opponent suffer, and he'd given the antsy KVJ something to do. Particularly something that would entrench them firmly to his side; since they'd all followed his orders, questioning Stayl would mean questioning their own actions. They couldn't do that now. On the other hand, his third purpose had failed. She hadn't acknowledged Stayl and neo-Frondism to be right, even if she did admit fairly early on to being the traitorous, human-preferring, waste of space that she was.

Ah, well. No matter.

Frankly, he was stunned that she'd managed to resist admitting to everything he had suggested. He wasn't sure if it was due to extraordinary conviction or courage – more likely, she was already not quite all there by the time the session started. He'd definitely made her snap, but he didn't get too much satisfaction out of that fact, knowing that every last person would have done the same under those circumstances. After the first few days of violent resistance had passed, she'd become withdrawn and mute, saying nothing more until the hallucinations took over and the screaming began, which couldn't exactly be considered talking, and anyway, by that point she couldn't even remember who she was and there was no way she could have understood their demands for confession. Even if she had confessed, it wouldn't have made a difference – Stayl was always prepared to declare that she had.

However, he'd succeeded in breaking her spirit. Once left to herself in the prison cell, she'd immediately curled into a tight fetal position and fell asleep. She hadn't really moved from that position since then, though she'd occasionally open her eyes and stare into the darkness. When Stayl had told her she was to be executed, she'd barely responded. Even if it wasn't strictly necessary, it was still unfortunate that she hadn't confessed, because it would have made the KVJ and the general fairy population much more supportive of her execution – and of future executions of noncompliants – but it didn't really matter that much. Stayl would still announce to the Council (all hand-picked neo-Frondian supporters, of course), that Holly Short had admitted to fraternizing with humans for counter-revolutionary purposes. As much as it would give Stayl great personal satisfaction to do away with this infuriating loose cannon, it would also send a strong message to any other fairies who might be questioning the legitimacy of his regime: neo-Frondism is pro-fairy, any opinion to the contrary is conspiracy to overthrow fairy civilization, which would draw the attention of Stayl, which, Stayl grinned to himself, was something you didn't want to do.

* * *


End file.
